


This Life Is Cruel

by Linger1536



Category: Borgias - Ambiguous Fandom, The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Angst, Doomed Relationship, Ghost Cesare, Past Lives, Reincarnated Lucrezia, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:19:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linger1536/pseuds/Linger1536
Summary: His wavy hair floats in the air on a gentle breeze as he turns his head to peer down at one of the roses that the wind has caught onto. His eyes follows it, watching it dance around her feet but then he seems to catch himself in surprise once his eyes land on her golden hair.For a moment it is as if time stands still...





	This Life Is Cruel

_The Church of Santa María, Viana, Spain, 2005_.

The scent of rain lingers in the summer air as the stones of the old church begins to dry in the afternoon sun, it mixes with the smell of coffee coming from a nearby cafe.

A group of tourists steps through the gates that lead up to the church, their shoes scrape against the damp pavement. A child's sweet laughter rings through the air - mixing with the busy sound of the street - as he runs to the open doors of the church.

An elderly couple comes to a stop inside the courtyard, peering down at the white and black plaque by their feet. The man's gnarly hands shake as he digs up a camera from a worn backpack, snapping a photo before moving along.

A younger man in his early thirties comes up behind them, wearing a bored expression on his face while his wife tugs at his hand, turning around to give him an encouraging smile. His lips twists into the semblance of one and the soles of his white sneakers scrape loudly against the plaque as he allows himself to be pulled along.

He does not the see the look of dismay that flashes across the delicate features of a young woman, stepping through the gate behind him, carrying with her a bouquet of white roses.  
A gust of wind blows through the courtyard and she lifts one hand to brush away a golden lock of hair that has fallen into her hazel eyes, before stepping forward, looking down at the plaque with a sadness one so young ought not yet be burdened with.

She stumbles forward as someone bumps into her from behind, mumbling a quick "Sorry," in broken English.

She finds her footing and is just about to turn around to reassure whoever it is that there is no harm done when she happens to glance up, eyes landing on the hulking figure perched on a church railing high above them, staring down at the people below with a bored expression on his handsome face that he rests on his knee while he allows his other leg to dangle carelessly in the air.

The woman freezes and the roses fall from her arms, spilling onto the ground. She looks around, watching the others faces for any indication that they too have seen the dark haired man but they all continue to go about their day.  
The woman's plump lips part in surprise and she tilts her head to the side, lifting one hand to shield her eyes from the sun, squinting up at the man dressed in clothes from another era.

His wavy hair floats in the air on a gentle breeze as he turns his head to peer down at one of the roses that the wind has caught on to. His eyes follows it, watching it dance around her feet but then he seems to catch himself in surprise once his eyes land on her golden hair.

For a moment it is as if time stands still. The noise from the street fades, the breeze goes out and the people around her seem to vanish. Then she blinks and it all comes rushing back.

A car horn honks from somewhere outside the gates, startling her and so she turns towards the noise but when she spins back around she gives a gasp of surprise and starts at the man who is stading so close to her that their noses are almost touching.

His head is tilted to the side and his brown eyes are wide in astonishment. He parts his lips in surprise, reaching out with one hand to trail his fingers down her cheek. "Lucrezia..."

His touch is nothing more but a ghostly caress, a faint memory still lingering on her skin.

Her lips twitch and she struggles to find the words. "I... what? How?"  
He looks at her for a moment before his face breaks out into a smile and she thinks it is the most beautiful thing she has ever laid her eyes upon. “It is you,” he whispers, eyes shining with joy.

She can't help herself laughter bubbles up from within her, escaping past her smiling lips as she drinks him in. "Cesare."

A hand closes around her arm and she looks to her left only to find an elderly woman peering up at her through concerned brown eyes. "My dear," she begins in a raspy voice of someone who has been smoking their entire life, "are you alright?"

"What?" she asks, glancing down at the woman while Cesare seems to glide back a few steps, watching them with his lips curving up into an amused smile. "Oh, yes I'm fine," she reassures the woman, patting her hand. "I just remembered something, that's all."

The woman's thin eyebrows come together above her concerned eyes. "There's a cafe just over there," she says, turning to point across the narrow street at a wooden door in the building opposite them. "You need to get some fluid in you."

"Oh, no that's okay," she promises the woman, digging in her bag for her water bottle. "No need to worry," she says, flashing the woman a dazzling smile before taking out her phone and headphones. "If you excuse me I have to make a phone call."

She slips her headphones on, tucking a stray curl of hair behind her ear while she pretends to dial a number on her phone before she crosses the small courtyard, stepping over to the side of the church where Cesare is waiting for her.

"I made you look like a fool," he says with a gleam in his dark eyes and in the voice that has haunted her in her dreams longer than she can remember.

She leans her back against the cool stone wall of the church, drinking in the sight of him. "It doesn't matter."

His feet makes no sound as he moves over the pebbles to come stand next to her. "I have missed you," he murmurs, gaze flickering down to her soft lips.

She swallows and the breath that follows leaves her on a deep exhale. "And I you."

He does not seem able to contain himself, reaching out to stroke her hair while his lips brush against her forehead. She closes her eyes sighing at the touch that feels like nothing more but the soft caress of another summer breeze.

She longs to touch him, pale hands reaching out for his but they pass through him as if he is nothing more than smoke, and she has to swallow around the lump that has formed in her throat before looking up into his tortured eyes. "Have you been here all this time?"

He glances around them at their surroundings. "For most of it."

Her eyebrows knit together. "What do you mean?"

He holds one arm out, gesturing at the plaque. "I seem to be bound to my bones."

She glances from him to his grave mark attempting to understand that it is truly he that lies buried underneath the stone. “But why?” she asks, turning her attention back on him and there is a silent plea in her voice for him to have an answer, just like he had always had before. “Why are you stuck here while I am free to go where I please? To experience life again?”

His lips curve upwards into a pensive smile. “Only God can answer that.”

She stares at him hard, hazel eyes flashing with anguish. “Is this how we are to be punished then?”

"Punished?" He repeats, moving closer to her, shaking his head. "No, my love, you are not being punished." He bends his head down, brushing his lips against her ear and if he had been alive she would have been able to breath in his scent - a scent she had come to associate with safety. "The blood has been washed off of your hands... you have been offered a new chance at life."

A lone tear slides down her cheek that has been kissed red by the sun. "But I'm not yours."

“No,” he says smiling melancholy, touching his fingers to a lock of her hair that sways between them on the breeze. “It is a cruel faith we have been dealt.”

They stay there for a long time watching the street fill with more people, all of whom are preparing for an evening out with friends and family. Later she won't remember all that was said between them but she does remember his smile, and the way his gaze had softened when she had told him about her life in this age.

A slim woman of impressive height, wearing dark sunglasses and a billowing dress steps through the gates, her heels click loudly against the plaque and Cesare laughs at the way his love's eyes narrow with indignation.

“Don't be offended on my behalf” he tells her, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Many people have stepped on me, less now than before.”

She turns her heated eyes on him, hands fisting together at her sides. “Does it not bother you?”

His dark waves fall around his face as he shakes his head at her fondly. “Not any more.”

She turns her head, staring after the woman with a look of distaste on her delicate features. “They should have more respect.”

He moves in front of her, bending down so that their eyes meet. “It is of little meaning to me.”

Her shoulders relax as she lets go of her anger on a soft exhale. “I wish there was something I could do.”

His eyes widen with horror but he quickly tries to conceal it from her, morphing his face into a calm expression but she catches it anyway.

“What is it?”

He ignores her question, turning his attention to the throng of people that are exiting the church. “The church will be closing soon...”

She follows his gaze watching the woman from earlier exit with a man she had seen go in an hour or two ago, both of them step on the plaque as they go. “I'll come back tomorrow,” she promises.

“No,” his voice is resolute and his face is set as he takes hold of her arms. “You will not.”

She blinks up at him, brows drawing together above her confused eyes. “But-”

“Listen to me Lucrezia,” he insists in a soft murmur, brushing his cold cheek against hers. “You have been given a second chance at life, do not waste it on ghosts.”

If he were alive she would have had to struggled to get out of his hold but all she has to do is take a step back. “What?” she asks in quavering voice on the brink of anger. “Do you truly expect me to go on with my life knowing that you are trapped here?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice growing stronger with each word while his face twist with agony, “I do. I will not have you waste away because of me.”

She scoffs and her golden locks fall against her back as she shakes her head at him. “I wouldn't be wasting my life away if I spent it with you.”

“You would be throwing your life away for something you cannot have,” he tells her, grasping her face in his hands and though she cannot feel the touch she reacts to the memory of it, turning her cheek into it. “You once said that you managed to forget me when I was away.” He turns his face into her hair, whispering: “You must manage that now.”

She pulls her head back to stare  up at him with eyes filled with unshed tears. “I love you.”

He leans down to brush his lips against hers, soft as a feather. “I love you too, now go.”

She turns with a hitching breath and he closes his eyes, jaw clenching as he hangs his head.

She stops by the gate and turns back around, lips parting to say one last farewell but he is gone...

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a couple I would ever have thought I would write something about since I'm not into incest (yes I'm aware I'm writing a Jon/Sansa fanfic but cousin marriage was a common thing in the middle ages so it makes me feel less icky) but Francois Arnaud and Holliday Grainger's chemistry is just so amazing and I could not help but be inspired by it.  
> I have not watched every episode of The Borgias so I apologise if they came across too ooc in this. English isn't my native language so I also apologise for any spelling mistakes I might have made.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought!


End file.
